


Black Lung

by bekka_mouri_hibiki



Category: The Dead South
Genre: Band Fic, Nouveau Western/Canadian Western, Other, Quarantine entertainment, for fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:34:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24510874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bekka_mouri_hibiki/pseuds/bekka_mouri_hibiki
Summary: A fanfic based on the songs of The Dead South with the members of the band as characters. I don't know the guys so I got creative based on their outfits and subject matter of their songs. Written for fun and quarantine entertainment for the fan group I belong to.
Relationships: Colton/Cards/Whiskey, Danny/Whiskey, Nate/Whiskey, Scott/Whiskey
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	Black Lung

**Chapter One: The Act Of Approach**

There was a storm raging in the dark night outside. It was getting late, this much Colton knew because of what he could see in the dimly lit barroom with his crystal blue eyes. The place was packed, as usual but no one sat with him. He had already made his profits for the night so all he had left to do was watch the drunks around him either sleep or pass out.

He was a young gambler, or at least he looked young, perhaps ten years younger than he really was. He wore a black bowler hat, his long blonde hair in braids and hanging past his shoulders. His black suspenders and black pants looked just that much blacker against his crisp white shirt. He had garters around his biceps, holding his sleeves back so they wouldn’t get in the way of his dealing.

His black string tie was loosened but still tied. The humidity in the bar was almost stifling but not so much that he had to take it off. The storm outside had pushed an oppressive amount of heat through the town earlier in the day but he had missed it. He had spent the day in his room, resting up for the sport he knew he’d get in the saloon.

He had spent the last hour or so shuffling his cards, waiting to see if any of the soberish patrons wanted to try their luck again. Some nights, a few fools would try their luck again only to end up owing Colton more money. Quite a few of the regulars had learned that it was wise not to try to win against him more than once a night but there were things to be said about the powers of strong whiskey and a fool heart. There was also something to be said about new people and travellers.

Generally, Colton didn’t mind strangers. They provided a challenge to the skills almost every man in town had fallen victim to. He wasn’t a cheat though he had been accused of it. He was just that damn good. 

His eyes moved to the batwing doors as they creaked open and he felt a slight grin tug at the corners of his lips. Coming in from the lightning lit night were three men that, frankly, looked like they needed a drink and some sleep. He did not recognize them but he watched them as they walked to the bar.

The one slightly ahead of the other two wore a preacher man’s hat, sharp black jacket over a white shirt and expensive looking black slacks. He wore cowboy boots that Colton couldn’t quite tell if they were brown or black. From what Colton could see, he had longish brown curly hair that barely touched his shirt collar and a short beard. He glanced around, letting Colton see he was wearing a bolo tie, the slide in the shape of a cow skull.

To the preacher man’s right was a fellow with a darker complexion and tight curly black hair that was short, He was clean shaven and looked to be the youngest of the three. He wore a white shirt, black suspenders and a black necktie. His black slacks didn’t seem to be anything too special.

To the left of the preacher man was a sort of stringy looking man. He had long dark brown hair that brushed his shoulders and had a full on beard that looked like he spent some time grooming it. He wore a beat up looking western style hat that looked like it had seen better days. He wore a white shirt, suspenders, black slacks but did not have a tie on.

Colton continued to watch as the three finished getting to the bar, the barkeep giving them a nod of acknowledgement. “What’ll it be, boys?” He asked.

The preacher man paused, contemplating his order then said, “Whiskey.”

“Right,” The barkeep reached under the bar and pulled out a shot glass. He glanced at the other two men, “And you boys?”

“Same,” The darker skinned one replied. The barkeep pulled out a shot glass for him as well.

“And you?” The barkeep glanced at the rough looking fellow.

“How much for the bottle?”

The barkeep placed the last man’s shot glass on the bar, “Depends on what kind you want.”

The rough looking one chuckled, “What’s the cheapest that’ll get me drunk the fastest?”

The barkeep turned to the shelf behind the bar, picking a half empty bottle up. Colton knew from experience that was the house special. It would get you drunk alright but you’d curse the sun in the morning. It was rumored that it was the barkeep’s own special brew… Or a combination of whatever was left at the end of the night so he had room for more bottles when he restocked.

The rough looking one frowned, “Is that all you got?”

“Take it or leave it,” The barkeep set it on the bar.

The rough one stuck his hand in his pocket, rummaged for a second then gave the barkeep a sheepish grin, “I think I left my money on the train.”

The barkeep reached for the bottle but the preacher man stopped him, “I’ll pay for it. He can pay me back in the morning.”

_ If he even remembers he owes you after drinking that trash, _ Colton thought as he stifled a chuckle. He watched the preacher man pay the barkeep and the men collected their shot glasses. They turned to the barroom, looking for an empty table. As his eyes fell on Colton and the only three empty seats in the place, Colton gave a small wave.

The preacher man thought about it for a second then nodded towards the table, “Over there,” He muttered to his companions.

_ Come closer, said the spider to the fly…  _ Colton tried to give them a welcoming smile as they took their seats at the table. “Hello. Ain’t see you all around here before.”

The preacher man poured himself a shot then passed the bottle to the darker skinned man, “No. First time here. Our train broke down and they’re trying to fix it. We’re out of here as soon as it is fixed.”

“That’s too bad,” Colton said. He set his playing card aside and extended his hand to the preacher man, “The name is Colton. Colton Crawford.”

The preacher man shook his hand, “Pastor Nate Hilts. You can call me Nate since this ain’t church and it ain’t Sunday.”

Colton smirked, “Oh, it could be church. God’s name is said quite a bit here.”

Nate scoffed, “Probably not in a way he likes.”

“Probably, “ Colton replied. He looked at the other two men, “And your friends?”

“Not friends,” Nate shook his head. “They were on the train with me. We were the only passengers.”

“Oh,” Colton said. “Then your travelling companions?”

The dark skinned man put his hand out, “Daniel Kenyon but you can call me Danny.”

Colton shook his hand, “Gotcha.”

The scruffy looking man reached for the bottle but Nate stopped him, “You were already two sheets to the wind on the train.”

“I just want one shot,” He said. He then looked at Colton, “I’m Scott Pringle. You can call me Scotty.”

Colton shook Scott’s hand then glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost midnight. He then nodded to the staircase that led to the handful of rooms on the second floor. “If you all are going to get a room for the night, you better do it before twelve. The barkeep won’t rent out after that. Something about drunks trashing the rooms.”

“We aren’t sleeping,” Nate said. “As soon as that train is ready, we’re out of here.”

Just then, an old man a few tables over started coughing. It was a great, rasping cough like that sounded like it was out to kill him. Nate and the other turned to look at him then turned back to Colton. “Is that shit catching?” Nate arched an eyebrow at Colton.

Colton chuckled, “Only if you go into the mines and stay there for thirty or so years. This here is a coal mining town. Almost all these men here work there and the ones who don’t probably will fill the spots of the old geezers who either drop dead or live long enough to retire.”

“What else is there in this town?” Scott asked.

Colton swung his hand in a sweeping motion, “The saloon, the mine and the general store. There’s a couple of places to eat but you’re better off cooking for yourselves.”

“Again,” Nate muttered. “Not sticking around that long.”

Scott grabbed the whiskey and refilled his shot glass, “Yeah… Doesn’t sound like much fun around here. How do you stand it?”

Colton smirked and held up his cards, “I have my ways. You boys want to play a hand or two?”

“For money?” Danny grabbed the bottle as Scott threw back his shot.

Nate snorted, “I’m out if we are. I don’t play against strangers I just met.”

Colton smirked as he shuffled the cards. He had already cleaned up for the night so it wouldn’t hurt to play for practice. He just needed to think of something worthwhile. He looked at the three men that sat around him, knowing that there was more to each of them than met the eye. “We can play for stories. Low man has to tell a tale.”

Nate looked to Scott and Scott looked to Danny. Scott then looked at Colton, “I’m in.”

“Preacher man?” Colton looked at Nate.

Nate thought it over and nodded at Danny, “If it’s okay with him”

Danny blinked, obviously not expecting to be the decision maker. “Uh, sure. I’m in.”

“Great, “ Colton smiled. “Let’s go.”


End file.
